


Four

by Azurite9925



Series: Four Verse [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender Sylvain, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Sylvain's not okay, and it's okay, animal crossing obsessed dimitri, badass world changer ingrid, but they're trying, no one's okay, past Ingrid/Dorothea, sword and youtube celebrity felix, they'll be okay together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azurite9925/pseuds/Azurite9925
Summary: "Sylvain was always detached from the rest of the Four, though he loved them dearly.He was introduced, once Glenn was officially named the heir of Fraldarius Security, to be the chaperone for the troublesome trio, a job he initially viewed with quite a bit of resignation. Later on, however, Sylvain found himself looking forward to taking care of them – found himself enjoying the protectiveness Felix inspired from him, the way Ingrid would nag him, and the earnest appreciation from Dimitri’s sincere soul. He was two grades ahead of them, but he kept them close through middle school, through high school, and through college.He’d kill or die for any of them, no questions asked. "--A Modern AU about the Faergus Four coming back together after life has worn them down apart.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Four Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848724
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Four

**Author's Note:**

> Because platonic Faergus Four needs some love. Big thanks to my beta Tynytyg, for giving this a read and helping me brainstorm the world building :)

_ One _

Sylvain watched the blood drip from his knuckles with detachment. 

It was hard to muster feeling about it all - of course, there was some part of his brain that reminded him that this was a painful thing for his hands, the glass shards especially - but it was hard, almost impossible at this point, to care why.

_ Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. _

A phone alarm went off. 

_ 6:50 _

He was going to be late if he didn’t leave soon. His lips twitched, and his fingers unlocked his phone, opening his messaging app to the top stranger’s phone number on the list - “ _ Hey gorgeous, I think I need to cancel on you - “ _

But he stopped. 

_ 6:53 _

He glanced back at the mirror, wondered if he couldn’t be counted as an adult anymore if he left the shards littered across the bathroom floor while he went out for the night. 

_ 6:54 _

Sighing, he plucked the worst of the shards out of his skin, letting warm water run over the rest, baring his teeth at the sting. Shuffling on his leather jacket, he grabbed a set of fingerless gloves from the coffee table, slipped them on his aching hands, and made a smooth exit into the cool night air.

_ 6:57 _

He’d be late. But that’s fine. She wouldn’t be there tomorrow anyways. 

Something like that rarely stayed the same long enough to matter, to him.

Change was something Sylvain Jose Gautier became very familiar with in the 7 years after graduating from Fhirdiad High School. 

Of course, the small changes were expected - things like moving away, his body filling out, cutting his hair, getting a few tattoos and choice piercings that have served him  _ very _ well. 

Others, like Miklan’s suicide, Sylvain’s subsequent running away, and moving in with his friends as they entered the very same college he was almost done with - that was less expected, but really a younger Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised his fucked up family reached that point. 

Changing from fields from Finance to Art - also moderately expected by anyone who knew Sylvain well enough to know that his eyes caught, and fingers sketched, every detail that mattered. Younger Sylvain wasn’t counted among those people, but as Felix says, younger Sylvain was “a fucking dipshit.”

Moving in with his friends. Living with them for four blissful years, before one by one, they left him too, off making their way in the outside world while Sylvain was here, in the Abyss, quietly painting and smoking the rest of his days away. He couldn’t blame them, not really. Sylvain’s journey was always made to take place in the back of his head.

Still, art wasn’t particularly sustainable, not quite yet, so Sylvain made do with (and mostly enjoyed) his work bartending in the meanwhile. 

But not  _ that _ many things changed about Sylvain Jose Gautier.

“Mm… sunshine, we’re almost at the door, have a little patience, yeah?” Sylvain chuckled, giving his partner’s ass a quick squeeze before pulling away.

He grabbed the keys from his pockets, tipsy fingers clumsily stabbing at the keyhole until finally, he unlocked the door and pressed his side against the door, pulling his conquest in before quickly closing the door behind them and pressing a heated kiss onto her already-swollen lips.

Sylvain’s conquest giggled and latched her arms around his neck once more, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her ass pleasantly against his erection. Sylvain hummed darkly in the base of his throat, resting his hands on her hips as he carried her towards the living room - 

“I do hope I haven’t come at the wrong time.”

Sylvain’s conquest screeched, startled, dropping from his embrace onto the floor ungracefully. The two young adults turned to the very tall, very blonde, and very unamused man currently sitting in the middle of Sylvain’s living room.

Sylvain’s blood ran cold, his heart stuttering as his blurred mind came to full attention. 

_ If he’s here then... _

“Oh- sir I, uh,” Uncharacteristically speechless, Sylvain exhaled harshly before turning to the woman in the room, suddenly, deeply, irritated at her presence. “Hey Ashley -”

“Wha-Sylvain! My name’s -”

“Whatever.” Sylvain cut her off, his face hardening. “Now’s not the time - just get out.” Ashley, infuriated, stuck up her middle finger in Sylvain’s face and stormed out of the apartment, rattling the door in its frame in her wake.

“It seems your lady friend isn’t particularly pleased with you.”

Sylvain snorted, turning to face his visitor. “Are they ever?”

“Remembering their names would certainly help.”

Sylvain arched a brow. “Sir, I truly doubt you’ve come all this way to discuss my vices.”

The blonde’s lips thinned, but he sighed. “I suppose you are correct, Sylvain. Though please, you are an adult – I do believe you’ve earned the right to call me Lambert.”

Sylvain felt his throat clench, and he covered the vague twitch of his eye with an easy, practiced, smile. Of course it’s Lambert who can watch Sylvain almost fuck a stranger in front of him, unceremoniously throw out said stranger, and then very earnestly and honestly inform Sylvain that he is, in fact, an adult.

_ Fucking Blaiddyds are going to be the death of me… _

“Old habits die hard, you can’t blame me.” Sylvain said, “Lambert, it is, then.”

Lambert nodded sagely, a small smile softening his normally severe features, before he gestured for Sylvain to sit, as if it wasn’t Sylvain’s home he had invited himself into. Sylvain sat regardless, draping himself across his one very plush armchair. “So.”

Lambert cleared his throat, sighing. “Sylvain, I know none of us have really contacted you in the past few years –“

“ – I don’t blame you, I’ve met my father – “ Sylvain muttered under his breath.

“But,” Lambert continued, “I… need to ask you a favor. It’s… for Dimitri.”

Sylvain’s smile vanished instantly, the cotton in his throat returning.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

_ Two _

Sylvain was always detached from the rest of the Four, though he loved them dearly.

He was introduced, once Glenn was officially named the heir of Fraldarius Security, to be the chaperone for the troublesome trio, a job he initially viewed with quite a bit of resignation. Later on, however, Sylvain found himself looking forward to taking care of them – found himself enjoying the protectiveness Felix inspired from him, the way Ingrid would nag him, and the earnest appreciation from Dimitri’s sincere soul. He was two grades ahead of them, but he kept them close through middle school, through high school, and through college.

He’d kill or die for any of them, no questions asked. 

Dimitri, however, inspired a new layer of protectiveness within Sylvain.

They didn’t know what else to call them but the Can’ts.

Dimitri, at times, would seem almost pathologically unable to do something – perhaps as small as refusing to walk through certain hallways, or clean up a table, but other times as serious as leave the bed – but he would freeze up, whispering “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” and it didn’t make sense, it usually didn’t make sense, and it frustrated nearly everyone involved. Felix would yell at him to man up. Ingrid would nag at him to move beyond it. 

But Sylvain… Sylvain knew that sometimes, people’s minds were their own hell.

On nights like those, Dimitri would send Sylvain a single text,  _ “Can’t,”  _ and Sylvain would come over no question, smiling brightly and full of excuses about homework and group projects while Lambert watched Sylvain enter Dimitri’s room with a little  _ too _ much understanding.

And Dimitri would curl into Sylvain’s lanky frame, sometimes crying, sometimes silent, and all Sylvain could do is hold Dimitri close, comb his fingers through Dimitri’s golden hair, and whisper,  _ “It’s okay… it’s okay…” _

They didn’t talk about it afterwards. They didn’t need to. It was enough, for a time.

And then everything went to shit, at the very end of Dimitri’s senior year of college.

It was an honest to God miracle that everyone survived that car crash. Lambert, Glenn, and Dimitri were all injured for a time, and Glenn had to give up fencing even after physical therapy – but they were  _ alive. _

Dimitri, however, wasn’t the same.

Felix thought it was Dimitri’s own weakness. Ingrid thought it was too much stress. Sylvain knew better.

The murmurings to voices not there, the hyperreactivity to sounds and visions, the sensitivity to sensory overload, the near constant occurrence of some level of the Can’ts – they were there, in such small ways, long before this. Sylvain saw it, and Sylvain knew that this couldn’t be solved with a little bit of love, tough or kind. Sylvain knew it was inevitable, after the first time Dimitri assaulted someone who got too close in the middle of a panic attack in public.

The one secret Lambert and Sylvain will keep between them until the day they die is the following: Sylvain was the one who tipped off the campus counselling center about Dimitri.

Dimitri was admitted to a hospital a few days after his graduation, of his own will.

_ “It’s for Dimitri,” Lambert said. “He was always the happiest with his friends – and he needs time away from Blaiddyd Corporation. Please, he’s going to be discharged to outpatient only next week. Let him stay, wet his feet in real life again, just for a little bit.” _

Sylvain wouldn’t dream of saying no.

And so, once again, the world changed for Sylvain Jose Gautier.

“How was your day, big guy?” Sylvain said, draping himself across Dimitri’s shoulders, eyes trained on the switch held between Dimitri’s absurdly large hands. Casual physical affection was one thing that never changed between the two of them – Dimitri was a walking space heater and Sylvain was a cat on the best of days. He enjoyed being close to Dimitri, especially since college finally gave Dimitri one hell of a growth spurt.

Dimitri glanced up at Sylvain, sending him a quick smile, before going back to his game, “Good. Look – I rearranged my flower garden today.”

Sylvain nodded sagely, duly impressed. “Nice, must’ve took you quite a bit.” Sylvain paused, tilting his head, “You go outside like Dr. Eisner told you to?”

Dimitri’s shoulders tensed, giving Sylvain all the answers he needed, but Sylvain kept quiet, waiting for Dimitri to admit it. “Uh…” Dimitri cleared his throat, “I did not. I was wondering if… you’d be interested in going on a walk now?” Dimitri tried, sending Sylvain a sheepish smile.

Sylvain snorted, shaking his head, “It’s 4 am, Dimitri.” Sylvain would know – he’d just gotten back from a shift at the Abyss, and like all days after Dimitri came into his life again, he came home alone and sober a lot more than he usually did.

“Oh.” Dimitri blinked, grabbing his phone and staring dazedly at the time on his lock screen

“Yeah, oh.” Sylvain teased.

Dimitri looked thoughtfully back down at his game, and then back at the time, and then back at Sylvain, his blue eyes painfully earnest. “Most people would be asleep by now, wouldn’t they?”

Sylvain laughed, filled with a silly sort of fondness for the both of them. “Good thing we’re not most people, yeah? Grab your jacket, let’s get pancakes before we can crash for the day.”

“It’s… February.”

“Dimitri, we’re Faergans – a little cold won’t kill us. Besides, it’s the fresh air that matters.”

Dimitri shrugged, putting his switch back into the dock and standing, a concerning number of bones cracking at the motions. Sylvain winced in sympathy.

His eyes shifted back towards the couch, and the truly concerning pile of blankets and pillows that were draped across it, and then back at the kitchenette, which didn’t look any different from when Sylvain left for his shift at 7 pm the evening before. “Dimitri?”

“Yes, Sylvain?”

“Did you get up at all, today?

Dimitri cleared his throat, turning away from Sylvain as he grabbed his coat, “When necessary.”

Sylvain shook his head, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. Still, his eyes were fond as they rested on Dimitri’s large, yet oddly docile form, lacing up his boots to perfection for something as simple as a pancake run.

It wasn’t quite perfect, but it was the start for the two of them, at least.

* * *

_ Three _

Out of all of them, Sylvain thought that Ingrid had a fairytale ending.

Sylvain? A grungy apartment and a shit job as a struggling artist. Dimitri? One hell of a set of demons and a long road of recovery ahead of him. Felix?... Well, Sylvain thought that, were Felix to find himself in a fairy tale, he’d be the dragon, not the knight in shining armor.

Truly, the peak of Sylvain’s first year out of college was hearing about Ingrid’s supposedly absolutely badass declaration of independence from her family.

In a stroke of pure genius, Ingrid’s father had decided to get his lesbian daughter (not that he took her sexuality seriously) engaged to  _ Glenn Fraldarius _ of all people (which had Sylvain wondering if Rodrigue had experienced an anneurysm, agreeing to that). Ingrid, upon hearing about this in the summer after graduation – and hearing that her father went ahead and told the company who had hired Ingrid before she graduated that she would be “too busy tending a home to work” –  _ absolutely lost it _ .

Sylvain did not know what happened to Ingrid after she packed her things, got into her car, and drove off into the distance – beyond that she cut her hair, moved to Embarr to live with Dorothea, and eloped her within the span of a week.

Ingrid, for some reason or another, never contacted Sylvain in the year following. He’d learned about it all from stalking Dorothea’s social media accounts – which, hey, was out of concern and not out of creepiness, thank you very much.

Sylvain, from there, merely hoped for the best. That Ingrid, through the sheer power of her spite, managed to save her community from any ails that could have possibly befall it, and found her way to success. Really, if any one of them was going to escape from their families, fall in love with an opera singer, and then live happily ever after in their perfectly gay lives in a completely different country, Sylvain wasn’t surprised it was Ingrid who had the guts to do it.

She was always the most man among all four of them.

This was why Sylvain was absolutely bamboozled when, one Sunday morning, the doorbell rang, startling the two from their sleep. Sylvain, grumpily pulling himself away from Dimitri’s very comfortable chest, dragged himself to the door and opened it with a snarky, “What?”

Only to freeze.

For the door wasn’t occupied by that one annoying representative from the Church, or his absurdly morning lark neighbor, or even some bratty kid – but the very small, very tired, and very nervous form of one Ingrid Brandl Galatea.

“Sylvain? Can… I come in?”

Sylvain could never say no to her. Not even when she asked for some space, and proceeded to not speak to either of them for a week.

And yet, Ingrid wove herself into their lives with an ease they never really lost.

Sylvain was waiting, kept waiting, for word as to why she was here, why she wasn’t in Embarr, where Dorothea was, what happened, why does  _ she look so damn tired _ –

But Ingrid, as always, was masterful at keeping herself busy.

A nonprofit. A food bank, and she was the office manager, surprising absolutely no one.

She’d never be home when Sylvain was, working 80-hour weeks to keep her workplace afloat. She’d be gone before Sylvain woke up, and asleep by the time he returned – too tired, too busy, too much of an adult to ever justify Sylvain forcing her to stop, to tell him, to  _ explain _ .

And Dimitri, poor, sweet Dimitri, who rubbed her back on evenings when she’d simply sit with a cooling cup of tea on the couch and stare unblinkingly at the wall, was too nervous to ever ask, not that Sylvain would ever expect that of him. Dimitri told her about his village and real life job as a freelance writer and editor online, in that soothing baritone of his. He told Sylvain if she ate, if she said anything, when she left for work, quietly, in the dark of the night, so that they would not wake her.

Selfishly, very quietly, in the back of his mind, Sylvian was almost glad for Ingrid’s despair – the way it inspired Dimitri to take care of the both of them while Sylvain could not.

Yet, it wasn’t Dimitri’s battle, ultimately. Dimitri had many roles and talents, but he wasn’t the person who dealt with what Sylvain mentally called the Big Shit. No, their diplomatic group leader much preferred to smooth feathers over in his own earnest and charming way.

Sylvain knew his role.

“Hey Ingrid.”

Ingrid froze at Sylvain’s greeting from the kitchen. She glanced at him warily, but Sylvain raised his hands and gave her his warmest smile, tipping his head towards, instead, to a warm pot of Daphnel Stew bubbling peaceably on the stove. He was supposed to be at work today, but he’d never used a sick day before and Yuri didn’t hate him yet, so here he was.

Slowly, she left her laptop bag on the coffee table and hung her coat on the coat rack by the door, her shoulders steadily relaxing as Sylvain put the final touches on the stew, pulling out bowls for the both of them as she approached the kitchen. He served her, pressing a quick peck against her forehead when he passed her the food.

Ingrid startled at the affection, almost spilling a few drops, and sent him a nasty glare, lips pinching and nostrils flaring in classic Ingrid Is Ready To Lecture Format. “Sylvain! You can’t startle me like that, you’ll make me waste food!”

He placed a hand to his chest, feigning offense as was expected of him, “Ingrid, you wound me, I would never waste your precious food. Besides, you know I’d cook for you for the rest of time, if you’d let me.”

Ingrid’s pout grew more pronounced, her glare softening. “I’ll let you off the hook for now. But only because the food smells too good.”

Sylvain grinned. “Of course.”

They ate in silence. Sylvain scrolled idly on his phone, watching Ingrid carefully out of the corner of his eye. She inhaled the food, as was expected from Ingrid after a long shift – but as she reached the end of her meal, her fingers hesitated, her eyes darting between the bowl and Sylvain’s seemingly unthreatening form.

Her eyes seemed glossy, and Sylvain knew it was time.

“Have you talked to Felix, since, y’know?”

“Since I dumped his brother and eloped in a new country with one of his best friends?” Ingrid said, arching a brow, her voice carefully, carefully, steady. “No. Didn’t think it was… a good idea.”

Sylvain nodded slowly. He, of course, knew for a fact that Felix was furious at Ingrid’s father, and very glad Ingrid wasn’t his  _ actual _ sister, but Ingrid didn’t know that. Ingrid didn’t really know the context for anything – for all she knew, Glenn actually wanted to marry her. “Might want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ingrid didn’t want to say much more after that, standing up to take their dishes to the sink. Washing them with practiced grace, putting them away, and then slowly moving to put the spices back to where they were, and then the dish rags, and then she grabbed a tissue to wipe the already-clean stove –

“Ingrid.” Sylvain interrupted. He knew, just as well as she did, that she was stalling.

She met his eyes for a moment, and then set the paper towel down, sighing.

Sylvain sat, for the first time in his life, properly on the armchair, gently patting his lap and sending Ingrid a flirtatious wink when she walked back into the living room. She snorted, shaking her head, but she didn’t reject him.

Her small, deceptively, startlingly small body nestled to his chest, Sylvain wrapped his arms around her, rubbing circles into her strong arms, taking deep, slow breaths, hoping she’d emulate, she’d calm too, that she knew that it would be okay.

Sylvain would make sure it would be okay.

* * *

_ Four _

It was almost anticlimactic, Felix and Ingrid’s reunion.

“Felix I’m –“

“If you apologize to me, I’m going to actually punch you in the face.”

Sylvain barked a laugh at that, drawing the attention of the room – but really, how couldn’t he laugh, that was  _ such a Felix thing to say _ .

And of course, when the four of them heard that Dorothea was the one to break it off, to say “ _ Ingrid, maybe we rushed into this, maybe we’re too young for this – I can’t stay here, I can’t be tied down, I need to travel more for my musical career and you’ve got your own missions. Maybe this won’t work out – but I love you, I love you so much _ .”

Felix was the first one to growl out, “If I see her again, I’ll break her nose.”

Even though Dorothea was his friend in the first place.

Ingrid smiled tearfully at him and he grabbed her shoulders and pressed her against his side, squeezing her tight - “Don’t you fucking leave us ever again, you hear me?” He rasped, his voice dangerously unsteady, “We were so fucking worried.”

_ “I’m sorry…” _

And, later that day, the moment when Dimitri made eye contact with Felix, and Felix didn’t make a single comment about how Dimitri nearly killed a man with his right hook – that was the moment when Sylvain knew everything was going to be okay.

Well… eventually.

Dimitri still struggled to leave the home, struggled to talk to clients outside of an email setting, and was scared to death of the thought of one day, being able to take over the Blaiddyd Corporation. Ingrid was still working herself to the bone for a reason that Sylvain thought was a lot more complicated than passion or workplace needs. Sylvain, himself, was feeling hand tremors from nicotine withdrawal, and finding himself with less and less patience towards the smallest of frustrations.

He was met, every time, with a forgiveness and understanding that even now, he couldn’t quite believe he deserved. He didn’t think he deserved a lot of things, especially not waking up in the warm arms of his two best friends, every single morning.

And Felix… well.

“Fraldarius, I  _ swear to God –“ _ Sylvain snapped at an unamused and unapologetic Felix, who was draped across Dimitri’s lap on the couch, tripping over  _ yet another sword. _

Sylvain… didn’t really know what to say about Felix.

Somehow, he was the most normal out of the four of them. Well, as normal as a custom weapons forge – slash – world’s surliest minor internet celebrity could be, but Sylvain guessed that this was the luxury of being the second child. Felix was grumpy, and a little prudish (in Sylvain’s expert opinion), but Felix was _ Felix _ . And Felix wasn’t, if Sylvain could be honest with himself, as broken as the rest of them.

But that didn’t stop him from  _ leaving his goddamn swords everywhere _ .

Ingrid laughed behind her cup of soup from her position on the armchair, rolling her eyes at the look of sheer betrayal Sylvain sent her way. Sylvain grabbed the sword from the floor, pointing the blade at Felix, who, unsurprisingly, had another sword hidden on his person and was 100% ready to fight Sylvain right then and there.

Dimitri looked up from his game, a small frown tugging his lips.

“No.”

Sylvain and Felix looked at each other and then back to Dimitri. Sylvain took the bait, “No?”

Dimitri crossed his arms, “No. No sword fighting while I’m trying to play my video games and Ingrid’s drinking soup.”

Felix groaned, “Dimitri, look, I’ve been itching to give Sylvain a good kick in the ass – “

“Hey! I’ll win eventually.” Sylvain cried indignantly. He really was – Dimitri and he had even started going to work out at the local gym. Mind you, it wasn’t Felix’s near insane daily workout for fencing, boxing, welding, and his own twisted definition of  _ fun _ , but it was  _ something _ .

“No.” Dimitri stated. “I know you want to sword fight literally anytime and all the time, including your wedding –“

Felix snorted, “Bold of you to assume I’ll ever marry.”

“ –  _ But _ , please maintain some sort of decorum.”

“Not in front of my salad!” Ingrid helpfully chimed from the armchair.

Dimitri nodded solemnly, “Thank you very much Ingrid. Not in front of her salad.”

Sylvain, reminding everyone that he was the current owner of the communal brain cell, piped up, “But wait, Ingrid’s drinking soup?”

Dimitri waved his hand, “Soup is temporary, salad is forever.”

Felix groaned, pouting angrily, head still in Dimitri’s lap, “So we  _ can’t _ swordfight?”

Sylvain, very secretly, was glad he didn’t have to go to work with more bruises Yuri would raise a well-groomed eyebrow at (really, it was  _ worse _ when it  _ wasn’t _ a euphemism), but he didn’t state it out loud.

It was, as many things are, the natural order of things that the swords were a precursor to more.

A few more decorative swords, a few cases of who-stole-Dimitri’s-sweater, the expectation that, more nights than not, they’d need to cook for four rather than three, the introduction of some streaming gear in case Felix was going to stay the night in their cuddle pile of a bed –

_ “Should we look into getting a larger apartment?” Dimitri said, muffled under Felix’s chest. _

_ Sylvain paused, soaking in the warmth around him. “Nah, I like this.” _

– and it was inevitable, that Felix would eventually move in with them.

“Hey guys? Glenn’s leaving the apartment to move in with Holst, Balthus, and Christophe. I’m moving here now.” Felix stated, one day, in the middle of dinner with absolutely no prompting.

Ingrid shrugged, “Fucking finally.”

And then, they were four.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.


End file.
